


Let's Go To Raisins

by Anonymous



Category: South Park
Genre: Belly Kink, Butt Plugs, Exhibitionism, M/M, Stuffing, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/





	Let's Go To Raisins

Cartman was a homebody and it suited him just fine. After successive promotions with South Park Bank, his rich clientele enlisted him in tax evasion and now he worked from home.

His office was small with one window and a large L-shaped desk. He had a tall bookcase to look smart, not to read from. Underneath his desk was a cat bed for Mr. Kitty IV. Beside his desk was a mini-fridge perpetually stocked with snacks and soda and beer.

Cartman woke up at seven, ate breakfast, and lazily clicked around his computer until noon. Then he would take an hour break from breaking the law to drink a beer and watch an episode of Real Housewives. He would either return to his office to sell stocks or fall asleep drunk.

It worked out well and he was making a lot of money, but his career change seemed to be affecting his partner.

Cartman exited his office at 4:30 PM, just to be safe. That morning he put on jeans and a nice long sleeve shirt, instead of his usual lazy pants. He sat on the couch with his hands on his thighs until 4:45 PM, when the door opened fifteen minutes ahead of schedule—good thing he came down early.

Butters stomped the snow off his boots and didn’t notice Cartman was looking at him until he shucked his coat onto the back of the couch.

“Eric!” he gasped, catching his coat at the last second and clutching it to his chest. “You scared me!”

“I live here,” Cartman said. “I’m always here.”

“Right. Sorry,” Butters grimaced and folded his jacket across his arm.

A beat of silence passed. “How was your day?” Cartman asked.

Butters nodded. “Good. We started multiplication. Thomas taught the class how to type ‘boobies’ on the calculators.”

Tommy was Stan and Kyle’s kid, born via surrogate, conceived with one sperm cell spliced with Stan and Kyle’s DNA. Kyle Broflovski-Marsh, attorney at law, paid a pretty penny to the mad scientist at the top of the hill to get it done.

Cartman snickered. “I taught him that.”

Butters rolled his eyes. “Well, it took up all of my math block, so now I’m a day behind.”

“They’re fourth graders,” Cartman said, “it’s times tables. It’s not that hard, they’ll be fine. We were fine.”

“It’s just everything’s so different from back then.”

Cartman took Butters’ hand. “Good thing they have you to teach them.”

Butters smiled. “I guess.” He slipped away to go upstairs. “I’m going to go shower and change.”

Cartman sat and listened to his retreating steps until he heard the bathroom door shut. Then he dropped his head back and looked at the ceiling. So much for his show of being here.

Butters’ cagey attitude was pissing him off. It’d been happening more and more recently. No matter what Cartman did, he couldn’t get through. He didn’t know if Butters thought he was lazy or something, staying home all day—but he was raking in more cash than ever.

Mr. Kitty IV jumped onto his lap and rolled around to expose her belly. Cartman focused on her purr. So what if Butters was going through a rough spot. They’d been dating for awhile. Cartman managed to overcome his abandonment issues and dedicated himself to the relationship. Sweet, loyal Butters would come back around to him eventually.

But still, something felt off, and Cartman wasn’t one to wait around for answers. He dumped the cat off his lap and bounded upstairs to the bathroom door.

It was open, fresh steam pouring out. Butters stood in front of the mirror with a towel around his waist, combing his wet hair. Cartman stood against the door jamb, in clear sight. He didn’t want another scare.

Butters glanced at him, turning slightly. “What’s up?”

“Did you have a bad day?” Cartman asked.

Butters looked back to the mirror. “What makes you say that?”

You never talk to me, Cartman could’ve said. You don’t talk to me like you used to. You were the only one who treated me like you did, but now you don’t.

“Just wondering,” he replied.

“It’s complicated,” Butters said. “It’s just work. I’m sorry. It’s midterms.”

Cartman stepped inside and palmed Butters’ dick through the towel. “I can help de-stress.”

Butters smiled tightly and moved Cartman’s offending hand to lace their fingers. “I’m mostly just hungry.”

“Okay.” Cartman squeezed his hand. “Your pick.”

“How about Raisins?” Butters suggested.

+

Raisins stood tall on the edge of Shi Tpa Town, the only original building left since City Wok’s monopolizing takeover of the district. Cartman smelled hot sauce from the parking lot.

Inside, a boobalicious hostess took them to their table. Country music played so loud some of the sports memorabilia lining the walls began to shake.

“Feel like wings?” Cartman asked. He didn’t know why else Butters would pick Raisins. It was obnoxious and uninteresting whores paraded like idiots when they weren’t fucking up orders.

“Maybe just a burger,” Butters said, menu unopened on the table before him as he looked around.

Cartman ordered a large plate of wings with extra sauce, lots of curly fries, and two Bud Lights. Nothing got to him like food did. Butters used to dare him to eat until he popped. It usually ended up with Cartman crying about a monstrous stomachache and boner. Butters would soothe him with tummy rubs and a blow job.

Tonight he slurped his wings and demolished his fries and chugged his beer but Butters was not entertained. He burped and moaned and lifted his shirt to expose his hot, tight skin halfway through the meal.

“Really packed it in,” he belched.

Butters picked at his cheeseburger. “I lost my appetite.” He stood from the table. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Cartman waved him off. “Whatever.”

As Butters left, Cartman went to the bar to get another beer. He sat down and half-watched the Broncos, angrily breaking open peanuts while the bartender poured his drink.

Somebody sat next to him, bumping elbows. “Some game, huh?”

Cartman scowled. “Yeah, it’s great.”

Stan laughed, in that annoyingly affable way of his. Middle age suited him. He had a mustache like Randy’s, offset by a light beard. He worked as a park ranger and spent his time picking up trash from Stark Pond and watching trees grow or something.

“What’s your deal?” Stan asked.

“Nothing,” Cartman said.

A napkin was laid out in front of him, his beer placed on top.

“I got it,” Stan said, pulling out his wallet. “One for me too,” he told the bartender.

“I’m rich,” Cartman boasted, “I don’t need your money.”

“I’m being nice.”

“Wanna pay my bills?”

Stan laughed again.

“So you’re drinking now?” Cartman asked after some time spent sipping. “What’ll your sponsor say?”

“I completed the program last year, douchebag,” Stan said. “And Kyle’s here so I’ll be fine.”

Cartman harrumphed at Stan’s implicit trust in his husband. “Where’s that asshole, anyway?”

“Went to get Tommy from the bathroom,” Stan answered, “he’s been there awhile.”

Stan spent the next few minutes talking about the rampant soil pollution in South Park. Cartman was thankful when Kyle’s stupid red head came closer.

Kyle held Tommy’s hand, who started bouncing up and down at sight of Cartman. The kid was the spitting image of his two fathers, with curly black hair, blue eyes, and freckles.

“Cartman! I saw Mr. Butters outside the bathroom.”

“Oh yeah, kid?”

“He was talking to some lady.”

Cartman frowned. Kyle shot him a confused look.

“What do you mean?” Kyle asked his son.

Tommy spoke quieter, now that adults were scrutinizing him. “Um, I don’t know.”

Stan placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy.”

“They were just standing close. I don’t know what they talked about.”

“What’d the cunt—what’d she look like?” Cartman asked.

“She had orange hair,” Tommy said, missing Cartman’s slip.

“Oh, fuck,” Stan sighed under his breath.

Cartman pounded the bar with his fist. “That son of a bitch!”

Well aware of Cartman’s impending fury, Kyle yanked Stan off the barstool and pulled Tommy closer. “It was nice seeing you, Cartman,” he said, and steered his family away.

Cartman chugged the rest of his beer and finished Stan’s abandoned glass too. He turned around in his seat to watch Butters return to their table.

Butters sat down, straightened his hair, and munched on a few fries while Cartman stared at him, unseen across the room. The son of a bitch looked pretty pleased with himself, too. His face was pink in a post-coital blush Cartman used to swoon over; it wasn’t as cute when Cartman knew it was because Butters had a side ho.

Had they gone outside? Did the whore push him up against the wall and suck his dick—and who else could it be but Lexus? Did she suck on his balls, one at a time, like Cartman knew he enjoyed? Or stick a finger up his ass just as he was about to cum? She probably just slobbered lipstick all over his cock and let him ejaculate on her tits.

Was that it? Did Butters miss pussy? Cartman didn’t have one, and couldn’t get one—not soon enough anyway, but a plot thickened in his mind regardless. He didn’t need a pussy, when he had a hole Butters already knew how to abuse. If it was a matter of presentation, it was no problem.

Four and a half drinks in, Cartman rose from the bar. He was groggy with food and woozy with alcohol, but sauntered back to his boyfriend without stumbling.

Butters looked up and narrowed his eyes. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Talking to Stan.” Cartman slapped a twenty next to his basket of bones and Butters’ cold, uneaten burger. “Let’s go.”

Butters had to jog to catch up, and took Cartman’s elbow as they walked through the front doors. “Are Kyle and Tommy here too?”

“They just left.”

“Are you mad about something?” Butters peered at him closer. “You’re really drunk, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?” Cartman demanded, stopping at their car. “Our forefathers didn’t even drink water. All they had was whiskey.”

“Give me the keys,” Butters said, holding his hand out.

“Give me a minute!” Cartman rifled through his pockets, then looked in the car window. The keys were sitting in the middle of the console. “Aw, shit!”

Butters pushed him aside to look in. “You locked us out, Eric!”

“Don’t ‘Eric’ me!”

Both men spun around at the sound of clicking heels. “Is something the matter?” a woman asked.

“Oh, go to hell!” Cartman shouted.

Butters shoved him away. “Sorry, Lexus. We’re locked out of our car.”

“Oh, damn,” she cursed sympathetically. The restaurant lights played off her orange hair, silver hoop earrings, and gaudy lipstick. “Do you have extra keys?”

“At home,” said Butters.

“I can give you a ride if you want. I just got off.”

“I’m sure you did, slut,” Cartman sneered over Butters’ shoulder.

“Shut up,” Butters snapped at him. “You can walk if you want.”

“I will!” Cartman bellowed, and stormed away. He heard Butters and Lexus briefly speak and didn’t look back.

It was cold, but he was fat, and was soon sweating underneath his jacket. Cartman took it off and was left shivering in his long sleeve shirt, equal parts sweaty and chilly. Fifteen minutes later he was crossing the street to cut through the park, not even halfway home, when a red minivan pulled up beside him.

The driver’s window rolled down, revealing Kyle’s bushy head. Behind him, Stan was pressing a button on the ceiling to open the side door. The bucket seat beside Tommy, behind Kyle, was open.

“Get in,” Kyle said.

Cartman looked up and down the street, then across the park, and climbed in.

Tommy glanced up from Kyle’s iPad, which he held in his lap.

“What d’you got there?” Cartman asked.

“I’m coloring,” Tommy said, and scribbled his index finger all over the screen.

“Nice. Pollock.”

“Did you and Butters break up in the parking lot?” Stan asked from the passenger seat.

“I locked the keys in,” Cartman said. “Lexus offered us a lift. I wasn’t about to ride with her.”

“You don’t know what happened between them,” Kyle said, glancing into the rearview mirror. “Don’t turn this into a thing.”

“Tommy told me enough,” Cartman said, “and I’m not. But I’ll need to sleep on your couch tonight.”

“Can Cartman read me to sleep?” Tommy asked excitedly.

“Ask Cartman,” Kyle said.

They soon arrived at the Broflovski-Marsh house. It was small but cozy for a family of three, decorated in earth tones, organized and clean, with signs of kid stuff and pictures from Stan and Kyle’s wedding in every room.

Cartman read Tommy to sleep as promised. The kid wasn’t as stupid as Cartman remembered himself and his friends being, and it was kinda nice to make sound effects along with the story. Tommy laughed and pointed at the pictures, but drifted off in no time.

Kyle was spreading blankets on the couch when Cartman returned downstairs.

“This is happening more and more lately,” Kyle commented without looking up. “Are things that bad between you two?”

“You know how it is,” Cartman said, “the old ball and chain.”

“No, I don’t.” Kyle met his eyes now, serious. “I’m happily married with a great son.”

“Good for you.”

Kyle smiled sardonically. “It is.” He rounded the couch and patted Cartman’s arm. “Please don’t fuck this up, Cartman. I know Butters isn’t perfect, but he deserves a second chance. God knows he gave you a thousand.”

With that, Kyle bounded upstairs. Cartman went into the kitchen. Stan was pouring Jim Bean into plastic Chinpokomon cups.

“Low on dishes, sorry,” Stan said, handing Cartman a cup. He opened a cabinet and pulled a pack of cigarettes out from the far back, then gestured to the sliding door.

They sat outside drinking and smoking, staring at Tommy’s play set in the middle of the yard.

“So they’re fucking?” Stan asked after a few moments.

“Hell if I know,” Cartman grunted.

“Butters couldn’t cheat on you.”

“We barely talk anymore.”

“What?” Stan leaned forward in his creaky lawn chair. “What are you talking about?”

“Says he’s busy with the school. It’s fucking fourth grade. It can’t be that complicated.”

Stan paused before asking his next question. “Do you still have sex?”

“Barely,” Cartman sighed. “And it’s boring as hell.”

“You guys have been together for years,” Stan said. “Maybe he’s busy about to propose to you or something.”

“No, he’s fucking that whore slut ass.”

“I thought her name was Lexus,” Stan snickered.

“From now on I’m calling her a whore slut ass.”

“Whatever man.”

They shot the shit for a little while longer, about football and their parents and whatever else. Cartman was glad when they finally retired, Stan upstairs to his waiting husband, and Cartman to the empty living room that smelled like pumpkin spice.

He fell asleep to the faint noises of Stan and Kyle’s ugly, sad, don’t-wake-up-the-kid sex.

The next morning, Kyle had to go to the firm early. He and Tommy were gone when Cartman woke up around nine. Stan was off today, and gave Cartman a ride in his park ranger truck.

“Take me to Kenny’s place,” Cartman said, “I don’t want to go home yet.”

“You can’t hide forever,” Stan told him.

“He’s fine. He’s got Lexus.”

Cartman knew that wasn’t true, but it felt good to say. Actually his phone was blowing up with texts and calls since he failed to let Butters know he was staying at Stan and Kyle’s last night.

Stan dropped him off in the parking lot of Kenny’s apartment complex. The McCormicks’ old neighborhood was completely overrun with shitty three-story buildings such as the one Kenny lived in now. Most of them held meth labs or prostitute dens. Kenny blended in well, but his occupation was less clear. Something to do with Lovecraft voodoo and black market dealings.

Unannounced, Cartman pounded on the door thrice. Craig Tucker responded, disheveled in boxers and an orange t-shirt.

“What do you want?”

“I need to speak to Kenny.”

Craig groaned. “Kenny!” he called. “It’s the fatass!”

Cartman stepped inside as Craig dropped back onto the couch. He and Tweek—who was wearing Craig’s missing pants—were passing a blunt back and forth, watching the Price is Right on TV.

Not that long ago but long enough, South Park’s two oldest fags were somehow charmed enough by Kenny to let him in on their relationship. Nobody understood how it worked besides the three of them. Cartman suspected it began with Kenny supplying meth to the Tweak coffee shop, whose secret ingredient was now known by a select few. Cartman only knew because he made it a point to know everything.

“Hey,” Kenny greeted, breezing into the living room.

“I need your help,” Cartman said.

“I need a smoke,” Kenny said. “Follow me.”

They stood outside on the balcony lining the complex’s second floor.

“Kyle told me about last night. Are you here about Butters?” Kenny asked, always cutting to the chase.

“I have a plan,” Cartman said. “Can I have a drag off that?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I figure the only reason he’s fucking Lexus is because she’s a chick. I mean, what does she have that I don’t? Besides a pussy, there’s nothing I can’t get. I’ve already got tits.”

“So what?”

“I need you to help me dress up.”

Kenny laughed.

“I’m serious! You’re the only crossdresser I know.”

“Do you think it’ll surprise him? Is he into that?”

“If he’s not, he can have Lexus.”

Kenny studied him. “You really care about Butters, don’t you?”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Sounds fun,” Kenny shrugged. “Why not?”

Kenny didn’t have any tops or skirts that fit Cartman, but he did have a wide, low-cut dress. Cartman shoved it on. It did not zip in the back. Kenny suggested they fold the dress down into a skirt, then gave Cartman some lacy bralette thing that outlined his man boobs. There weren’t any shoes large enough; Cartman forwent them and donned a brown wig. Kenny slapped on some nude lipstick and smokey eye makeup to finish him off.

When Cartman next saw himself in the bathroom mirror, he didn’t know what to think. He didn’t look great—but he didn’t look awful, either.

“This is so stupid,” he said, and immediately turned away from his reflection.

“Aw come on, no it isn’t.” Kenny touched his back. “I do it all the time. You look hot.”

“I look like a fat ugly drag queen.”

“A sexy one, though.”

Cartman tore the wig off. “It’s impossible.”

Kenny picked the wig up from the floor. “Cartman, your entire relationship is built on contradictions.” He put the wig back on his head. “Shut up and sit down.”

Cartman sat on the toilet as Kenny put his wig up in a bun. Loose plastic tendrils fell around his face. Once that was done, Kenny nestled a few bobby pins in the back. Then he disappeared, only to return at a breakneck pace with a pair of dangling, rhinestone earrings.

The hairdo was loose and curly. The lipstick was subtle but soft, and the dark eyeshadow distracted from the fat on Cartman’s face. The earrings boxed his head in well, and set a nice, shiny contrast to the black skirt/dress and bralette.

Once he saw himself again, Cartman instinctively cowed. Not out of fear, but a deep spark of recognition. He looked the same person, only prettier, and his fat now lent to the (faint) impression of feminine curves.

His nostrils flared and he blinked several times. Like a bull about to charge the mirror—shatter it with his fist.

“You see it now?” Kenny asked, watching all this over Cartman’s shoulder into the reflection. “Come on. Marjorie awaits, Erica.”

Cartman held back as Kenny strode into the living room.

“I’m taking the car,” he told Tweek and Craig.

“What for?” Craig asked, though his monotone voice held no hint of curiosity.

“Taking Erica back home.”

‘Fuck you, Kenny,’ Cartman thought.

“Erica?” Tweek asked.

“Show yourself, doll,” Kenny called into the hallway.

Cartman refused. “No.”

Kenny bodily dragged him in front of the TV against his will. The Price is Right was still on.

Tweek’s mouth dropped open. Craig lifted both eyebrows.

“It’s terrible,” Cartman said. “Fuck you, Kenny, I never should’ve thought of this—”

“You look good,” Tweek protested.

Cartman silenced.

Craig nodded along Tweek. “It’s nice, considering what you had to work with.”

“That’s him being nice,” Kenny assured, stepping up from behind. He leaned down to kiss Craig and Tweek both on the lips. It extended into a weird makeout triangle Cartman couldn’t stop watching in confused disgust.

“You’re so gross when you’re high,” Kenny chastised after he finally pulled away.

Tweek’s face lit up with a sudden eureka grin. “We’ll be fucking by the time you get back!”

“Better not!”

Craig cut into the conversation. “Just hurry back.” He glared at Cartman like it was somehow his fault.

“Alright, let’s go!” Kenny yelled, and pushed Cartman out the door.

Once they got in Craig’s station wagon, Kenny cranked the window down and lit a cigarette. Cartman checked his phone: 5 missed calls, 10 texts. He held his hand out for a drag, which Kenny provided, then passed the smoke back and sent Butters a short message: ‘omw.’

The ride back to his home went surprisingly fast, considering all the different places Cartman went to get there. But here he was, stepping out onto the sidewalk, grimacing at Kenny’s wishes of good luck.

Kenny was clever and quick on his feet, but he was bad luck, and Cartman already felt jinxed walking up to the front door. It opened unlocked—it was noon by now, after all. It was Saturday. Cartman heard Butters in the kitchen, listening to bluesy jazz on low.

When Cartman stepped inside, Butters bent to open the oven and he got an eye for ass cheek. Butters was wearing an apron, and only an apron, pulling out fresh chocolate chip cookies. Cartman balked, scuttling back against the door frame, but it was too late—Butters twirled around adorably, apron swishing with the movement, hands gloved in two yellow mitts.

“Eric!” he gasped. His eyes widened as he took in Cartman’s appearance. “Oh, Eric, what—”

“What are these,” Cartman asked, gesturing to the pan in Butters’ hands, “‘sorry for cheating’ cookies?”

“Cheating?” Butters dropped the cookies onto the stovetop behind him and took his gloves off. Not angered by the accusation, he only seemed crestfallen. “You’ve got the wrong idea. Why would I cheat on you?”

Cartman paused, thrown off by Butters’ mood. “Why—why not? Lexus is a hot bitch. She’s not fat. She probably doesn’t cry every time you fuck. She’s a whore but she’s a legal whore. I could get caught for tax evasion and money laundering.”

“Eric just be quiet,” Butters snapped. “I’m not cheating on you with Lexus! I...”

He walked across the room and sank into a chair at the table. Cartman sat across from him, wanting to touch his knee.

“Lexus’ son is in my class,” Butters started, rubbing his knuckles together. “I saw some things. He’s being abused, Eric, and she is too. I’ve been going to Raisins to talk, her boyfriend can’t know. She’s pregnant. She wants an abortion. Aw, hamburgers—I was gonna take money out and let her have it and just tell you after the fact. I’ve been so stressed, on top of midterms and I know since you’re working at home you want to see me more, I’m so sorry I’m just going crazy!”

The last exclamation was almost a hiccup. Butters covered his face and took in deep breaths.

Cartman didn’t know what to say. Butters didn’t need platitudes. He just went with the truth. “I thought you were fucking Lexus because you thought I was ugly and lazy and I didn’t have a pussy.”

Butters dropped his hands to hold onto Cartman’s. Cartman clutched at his fingers.

“Is that why you’re all pretty for me?” Butters asked.

“If you think I am,” Cartman mumbled.

“The cookies are for you,” Butters said. “I’m so glad you’re dressed up. You’ll look so nice eating.”

“I’ll eat all of em.”

“I know.”

Butters stood to plate the cookies and retrieve the remaining half gallon of 2% milk. He brought these things to the table, then stared down at Cartman and reconsidered.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Cartman followed Butters to their bedroom. Butters asked him to lay down on the bed, then climbed in after, setting the cookies beside them and holding the milk jug in his hand. With the other hand he started feeding Cartman cookies.

The first three slid down easy. By the fourth Cartman’s throat bobbed, clogged with chocolate. Butters handed him the milk. Cartman chugged a short measure; half of it dripped down his chest and soaked through his bralette.

Butters switched to feed him again, letting him drink after every fifth one. There was twenty five cookies altogether.

Cartman progressed holding the milk in his hand. After every fifth cookie, he drank in an attempt to break up the food sitting heavy in his esophagus and tummy. The milk did nothing but expand his stomach further, and twist his intestines in dairy cramps.

It took forty minutes to eat all twenty five cookies and drink a half gallon of milk. Cartman’s chest was tight with pain. He rubbed his sternum to encourage air into his lungs, and ended up fondling his man boobs through the milk-drenched lace.

“What’s wrong?” Butters asked, nosing Cartman’s cheek. He hadn’t taken the apron off yet; it tented over his boner.

“I can’t breathe,” Cartman gasped.

“Shh,” Butters murmured, “you’re so full...” He kneaded Cartman’s belly dome with both hands. Cartman moaned at the sensation, pressure spots sharply alternating with Butters’ touch. The disruptions bubbled deep in his gut, pushing his belly out further. His dick leaked pre-cum as his inflating stomach cut into Kenny’s dress.

He held his breath, swallowing each burp as they came up his throat. Butters massaged deeper into his stomach, forcing Cartman to take in more air. His belly slowly rose, impacted food interacting with the milk and extra air, all gurgling into a giant balloon.

Cartman whimpered as his skin grew hot and angry, stretched taut around its massive payload. He patted his sides, feeling the heavy fullness within, and spread both hands out; each span barely encompassed his skin.

“Let’s take you outta this,” Butters said, shimmying the dress off Cartman’s soft hips.

“It’s tiiight,” Cartman complained, then moaned “Aw, fuck,” as his heavy stomach bounced onto his naked lap.

Butters hefted his underbelly up with one hand and took hold of his cock with the other. “Look at me,” Butters commanded.

Cartman lifted his head. The wig slanted onto his shoulder and hung there. Crumbs were stuck around his mouth and chin.

Butters leaned forward and slammed their lips together. Cartman dropped further into the bed, pliant and boneless, allowing Butters to attack his mouth. The wig fell off onto the pillow.

Cartman whined as Butters pulled away. A line of spit hung between them until it snapped and fell onto Cartman’s stomach.

“I’m not with Lexus,” Butters said, staring at Cartman directly. “I couldn’t do this with her.”

“Cause she’s a skinny whore bitch?” Cartman asked.

Butters giggled. “Yeah, I’ve never seen anybody eat like you.” He punctuated the remark with a few pats to Cartman’s belly. “I can be inside of you more ways than one. My food and my dick.”

“Both are good,” Cartman said.

“What made you feel I was cheating?” Butters asked.

“I already told you.”

“You said what you thought. Not what you felt.”

Cartman groaned. Butters always saw right through him. “I felt stupid. Like I wasn’t enough.”

“You’re more than enough,” Butters promised huskily. He pawed Cartman’s thighs apart and pushed an un-lubed finger inside.

Cartman’s sphincter tightened around the obtrusion, which sent his stomach rippling. He grit his teeth and forced himself not to bear down on Butters’ hand. Eventually he relaxed, and Butters opened him further with a second finger.

“That’s it,” Butters murmured, pumping his hand in and out. “Just like that.”

Cartman’s gut jostled into his tits. He looked over its rotund edge where Butters’ elbow disappeared, clutched his sides. Stitches began to form under his palms.

Butters added a third finger. The three digits, braided together, rubbed against Cartman’s prostate. A shockwave traveled up into his stomach, igniting a fierce cramp.

“Ahh! Ah—ohh, Butters stop!”

“I am, I am!”

Butters stilled his hand inside of Cartman’s channel. The fingers relaxed but remained in place.

Cartman writhed in pain, knocking his gargantuan stomach back and forth as he rubbed its red hot surface. He was so big, his hands couldn’t meet in the middle. His belly button popped out from his naval dark and sensitive; veins and stretchmarks radiated around the spot, a record of previous stuffings—throughout his life Cartman had had many.

Experienced as he was, he knew how to push through. Plus Butters knew how to help him.

The sheets underneath were soaked in sweat, smeared with precum. Cartman’s flabby legs flapped out akimbo. He squeezed around Butters’ fingers, reorienting himself with the weight, and followed the rumblings of his tummy with his hands, mitigating cords of pain as they appeared across his abdomen. He afforded himself a couple of massive burps, but managed to calm the rest of his stomach without sacrificing anymore of its girth.

Butters leant forward and fingered Cartman’s prostate with a few swipes. Cartman yelped, but clenched around him, and finally let go of his belly to clutch the dirty sheets.

“Are you okay, Eric?” Butters asked.

Cartman nodded hurriedly. “Fuck me already, Leopold.”

Butters giggled and spread is fingers into three prongs, then twisted his hand out. Cartman gasped and lurched. Butters took Eric’s fat knees into his hands and unceremoniously inserted his penis.

Cartman’s ass was pulled plush against Butters’ ball sac. His legs burned as they framed Butters’ lithe torso. Not to mention his boner was engorged purple and leaking, smacking between the underside of his huge gut and Butters’ navel. At least his cramps had faded to a dull throb. Now he focused on Butters’ cock reaming his stomach from the inside. Each push and pull created a seesaw of pressure inside Cartman’s asshole and his belly.

Butters started fucking him faster, then pinched globs of skin on Cartman’s sides. As he circled to the front Cartman’ skin thinned to a hard, impenetrable wall. All Cartman’s usual softness was stretched around last night’s wings and quarts of beer, and today’s gallon of milk and twenty five cookies.

“Cum in me,” Cartman preened, “please please please—”

“Eric!”

Butters slammed to a stop, buried to the hilt. He came deep inside of Cartman with rare force. Almost sucked dry. Globs of cum leaked out of Cartman’s loose ass while Butters dick still quaked with more ejaculations.

All told a puddle of semen formed underneath Cartman’s ass. Even more was buried inside of him, plugged tight with the head of Butters’ dick. He desperately reached around to milk Butters’ ball sac, wrenching the other man on top of his stomach in the process.

Butters panted wordlessly, starfished over Cartman’s towering gut as Cartman literally emptied him of cum. His dick wiggled tenderly with each painful spurt of cum but he did not pull out because Cartman had not bade him to.

Tears leaked out of Cartman’s eyes at the full weight of Butters on top of him. Cramps worse than those before coiled around his intestinal track. He looked pregnant and felt pregnant. Air continued to build up inside of him. He expelled small burps of gas, tears down his face, squeezing Butters’ cum out like a vice.

“Fuck me bigger,” he begged, “I’m still not full!”

“Eric, I cant,” Butters finally gasped, and slid down and out.

He helped Cartman sit up a bit, to relieve some of the weight from his tummy.

“No, idiot,” Cartman yelled, clasping his legs together tight, “get a plug!”

Butters head nearly went woozy with Cartman’s dedication to their play. It was sexy and exhilirating seeing him vulnerable and needy. “Okay, Eric, okay,” he murmured, leaning to the end table. A large conical plug squelched wetly into Cartman’s ass. More cum was dispelled around the intrusion, but most of it stayed inside.

Cartman sighed with relief, knowing he wouldn’t be getting smaller for awhile. He knew for a fact that his stomach was bigger than when they’d initially begun, even with all the cookies and milk.

The air buildup had really but a number on him—and in Cartman’s heart he believed half of him was full with bucketloads of Butters’ thick seed.

The plug sat on top of his prostate. Each little twitch sent pain up his blue-balled boner.

“Don’t,” he said when Butters moved to take care of it. “I just wanna lay down for a sec.”

“Okay, baby,” Butters said, and burrowed down into his side. Both of their hands roamed over Cartman’s stomach, chasing bubbles of rapid activity. “Imagine if this was all our babies.”

Cartman whined. “I’m having contractions,” he hyperbolized.

“Get used to it,” Butters said, “I’m gonna knock you up over and over, bigger and bigger.” He brought one of his hands down to swirl the big plug around. With his other hand he felt over the same spot on Cartman’s stomach and detected slight curls of movement. “They’re kicking hard, Eric.”

“Feels good,” Cartman muttered.

Butters took cum from the bed and spread it around Cartman’s ass cheeks and ball sac. “Your water broke, Eric, can you feel that?”

Cartman shook his head and blinked up at Butters, realizing what he intended to do. “I can’t do this anymore—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Butters assured, jerking the plug rougher around Cartman’s channel.

The pain moved upward into Cartman’s belly and more sweat broke out over every inch of his naked body. He really felt like he was giving birth. The plug was guided by cum, but that alone wasn’t slick enough. Exhausted by the weight of his stomach, Cartman could barely push on the plug. His face turned red and his stomach tightened in agony as his entire body curled up to expel the giant plug nestled in his messy asshole.

Several times the plug inched out, only to get sucked back in when Cartman paused to take a breath. Eventually Butters had to get him on his knees. Cartman held onto Butters’ shoulders while Butters used both hands to hold Cartman’s massive stomach up. From this vertical position, gravity was allowed to assist.

Complications continued to occur, but after several sweaty minutes the plug shot out with copious amounts of cum that drained from Cartman’s ass in globs.

Suddenly empty and off balance, he dropped forward into Butters’ arms. Butters laid him down and kissed and rubbed his heaving belly.

“This is the biggest I’ve ever been,” Cartman said after some time spent in quiet.

Butters got a crazy glint in his eyes. He went to the master bathroom to retrieve a wet rag and tall glass of tap water. Cartman readily accepted the cool rag on his thighs, stomach, and ass, but hesitated when handed the glass of water.

“You need to rehydrate,” Butters admonished.

Cartman went in slow sips. Each drink felt like fire down his esophagus, and settled uneasily in his stomach. Soon he knew nothing but the throbbing of his still-erect dick and the contractions—for that was what they really were now—in his tummy.

Butters kept bringing out glasses of water. Cartman lost count, but knew he could refuse to drink more if he wanted. He continued accepting the water, letting it dribble down his face and onto his hot gut, which churned audibly.

“No more,” Cartman whimpered. He curled around his stomach in pain.

Butters set the glass aside and pet Cartman’s hair. “What is it?”

“I have to burp,” Cartman complained, “and I want to cum. Don’t—” he added when Butters moved to finger him “—Just rub me!”

Butters prodded Cartman’s belly for tight spots. When Cartman groaned at a particular area, Butters slapped the spot open-handed.

Cartman jumped in pain, then released a huge belch. At the same time, he gripped his dick to direct thick stripes of cum onto his belly.

Butters cleaned him up again and laid down. Soon they both drifted to sleep.

When they awoke, Cartman’s stomach and lessened but still carried an impressive swell. Butters pet his gut in sleepy reverence.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Butters asked. “Your pick.”

Cartman’s dick twitched at the implication of round two. He smiled. “What about Raisins?”


End file.
